


Krepta, Child of Two Worlds

by Frea_O



Category: My Teacher Is an Alien - Bruce Coville
Genre: Alien Culture, Aliens, Documentaries, Filmmaking, Gen, Post-Canon, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frea_O/pseuds/Frea_O
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the events of <i>My Teacher Flunked the Planet</i>, Peter gets offered an opportunity...an opportunity that the others won't let him resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Krepta, Child of Two Worlds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaclynhyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaclynhyde/gifts).



> Hello, wonderful recipient! In a few weeks, when I am revealed ~~to be Batman~~ , your friend sabra-n will have a hilarious story to tell you about how we are connected. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this. I want to apologize for any inaccuracies in advance. I picked this up as a pinch-hit last night and only had time to read the final book, though I was _obsessed_ with the series as a kid. Frankly, you have wonderful taste, and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed dipping back into that world and getting to write that for you.

The photographers’ flashbulbs reminded me of an alien. 

I had once seen an alien who literally had tendrils of light glowing from his head, which was an amorphous pink thing that sat on five spindly legs. He—or that was the pronoun that most closely fitted him—communicated by flashing the little “lights,” which were just supercharged clusters of air around the tendrils, themselves feather light and barely tangible. They had felt like the softest down against my hand. The more excited Xn’draiala had become, the dimmer the flashes of light had grown and vice versa, which meant that asking him about a mundane topic like the weather could lead to temporary blindness.

Watching the photographers line up around the red carpet, shouting and hawking at the celebrities, I thought if those were Xn’draiala’s tendrils flashing, whatever he was discussing could put the entire room to sleep.

A hand touched my arm, just a feather-light touch. “I believe,” said my companion, “the woman there is gesturing that we should move forward.”

I looked over and certainly, the publicist was beckoning impatiently. She had a lot of people to move along the red carpet’s expanse in a very short amount of time, so I could understand the fervor. Broxholm and I, being unassuming friends of the director, wouldn’t merit more than the barest of courtesy. No red carpet treatment for us. Indeed, we walked right past the pack of photographers with their vests and their lenses that looked like Yechtal eyes. A couple snapped disinterested photos of us, but otherwise, we might as well have been invisible.

They had no idea that they were looking at an alien and a man who more commonly went by Krepta, Child of the Stars. Of course, we looked unassuming. I wore my usual mask, with its heroic mouth and its darker hair, and Broxholm had chosen a face with plain features and a cap of black hair that curled up into an afro. Because I knew him well, I could sense that he was frowning because the mask restricted his forehead, which was his primary way of showing emotion. I myself was probably frowning as well, though that was likely temporary blindness.

Behind us, we heard excitement thrum through the ranks of photographers. I felt a corresponding tug of nerves through the bond. “Duncan and Susan are here,” I said to Broxholm. I listened for a moment. “Susan wants us to pick her up some popcorn. And Duncan wants Milk Duds.”

Broxholm lifted an eyebrow, a human expression. He’d been on earth for over a decade, swapping faces and identities as he needed, so the Universal Translator needed to tell me less and less about his expressions. 

“Kreeblim,” said he, “informed me that it is customary to sneak your own food into these occasions, so…” From the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a small plastic baggie. I half-worried for a second that it might be a Poot, but what I saw instead made my taste-buds begin to water. Fimflits! “Though Duncan will no doubt prefer the Milk Duds.”

Duncan’s disgust through the bond made that more than clear.

From my vantage point in the theater lobby, I could see the other end of the red carpet, where the limo had pulled up. If I closed my eyes, I would be able to see inside—when we were near, the bond was even stronger—but instead I watched as my friends emerged. Susan was wearing a killer black dress and Duncan had even put on a tie for the occasion.

He smirked at me for that thought. Little had I know that the bully who had tormented me throughout childhood would be one day able to know my every thought. I had thought it would be hell, but instead, it was simply my existence. Of course, I wouldn’t have thought he would turn his life around as Roger Keebler and go on to graduate from an ivy league college _Summa Cum Laude_ , either.

The photographers lit up when they saw Susan. “Susan! Susan Simmons! Tell us, Susan, is it true this is your last documentary?”

“Which designer are you wearing tonight?”

“What cause will you tackle next?”

“You look fabulous, Miss Simmons! Who are you wearing?”

 _Sheesh,_ Susan said in my mind, _you make an award-winning documentary about child-soldiers in the Sudan, and all they want to know is about your shoes._

 _To be fair, they’re pretty great shoes,_ I thought back at her.

She turned slightly mid-photography session to wrinkle her nose at me, while Duncan grinned behind her.

“Peter,” Broxholm said, drawing my attention back into the lobby. “We should fetch those refreshments and go inside. The film will start soon.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling at my mentor. 

He didn’t comment further as we went and paid an exorbitant amount for a bucket of popcorn, sodas, and Duncan’s Milk Duds. Broxholm had become used to our bond over the years, inasmuch as somebody ever truly grew accustomed to it. My father and stepmother accepted it, but they didn’t quite understand it, not the way Kreeblim and Broxholm did.

But I had to hand it to my father. Like me, he had been given the improbable task of sorting out alien tutors to come teach humanity peace and progress, and he’d never flinched. The first couple of years had been full of sleepless nights, lying awake in bed and wondering if the Intergalactic Council might change their minds and press the button that would end humanity and forestall the problem of humans spreading their war and planet-destroying ways to the rest of the galaxy. But slowly, the teachers had arrived, and while they might not be out in the open yet, we hoped that soon, it would become possible and there would be acceptance and tolerance.

In working with them, I had spent high school as a child of two worlds. In my classes, I was Stoney Harrison, the foster-son and then adopted son of Rod Thompson and Maria Schwartz. In the evenings and weekends, I became Krepta and I traveled the world with my mentor, speaking with the teachers that the crew aboard the _New Jersey_ (named because it was ‘as big as’) had carefully placed in society. I learned basic social studies and math in class and then complicated astrophysics and how to pilot all sorts of space-ships, from the kind that my mentor preferred, to the much-faster ships that were able to cross between galaxies in a matter of days, provided the galaxies weren’t _too_ far away.

And yet it had been over a decade since I had been farther than the _New Jersey_.

Susan and Duncan joined us in the theater right before the documentary was introduced by the president of the theater association, and the film rolled. I paid close attention, though my thoughts wandered sometimes to my friends. Duncan and Susan had taken very different paths. Duncan had turned his life around as Roger, studying hard in high school and getting into college with a football scholarship. He was halfway through his doctorate and would probably never fully leave academia, so determined was he to know and understand humanity’s problems, and how our bond could be replicated. He worked with Hoo-Lan, my old instructor, though the Council wasn’t fond of the blue alien.

Susan, on the other hand, had gone to film school. It had been a dream of hers to become an actress, but instead, Susan had found her calling on the other side of the camera. Hoo-Lan had given us the gift of television before our species was advanced enough to understand its power and Susan worked tirelessly in the film industry to release positive films and documentaries. She was determined to single-handedly right Hoo-Lan’s wrongs, I knew. It had been a lot of late nights, a lot of frustration, but thanks to the bond, I knew all about Duncan’s philosophy and how to edit a film, and Susan and Duncan could both pilot any ship I knew.

The science-fiction novels I loved had become my life, but I couldn’t shake the restlessness in my chest. I longed for the stars. What good would I be as Krepta, Child of the Stars, if all I did was study them from a distance? 

When the film finished, I had tears in my eyes. I had seen things like the brutal, violent images that Susan’s camera showed up close, but the pain never lessened. And I knew my friend had surpassed herself yet again. Susan Simmons was well on her way to becoming a household name.

“It’s a long way from unmasking an alien back in Kennituck Falls, isn’t it?” she asked the three of us, as she’d sensed my thought.

Broxholm’s forehead twitched. “Indeed.”

As he was the alien she had unmasked, he likely found it less amusing than the rest of us. I put my hand on his arm, gently. The Universal Translator would tell him what the gesture meant.

“Time to go face the music—sorry, Broxholm,” Susan said, wincing. To us, she thought, _I really need to drop that phrase._

 _I don’t think he’s offended,_ Duncan pointed out.

But Susan still winced a little as she headed for the podium, where she spoke with her usual passion about the project and all that it had taken to bring it to the screen. I’d listened to her researching the speech, so I didn’t really need to pay attention. Duncan, on the other hand, hung onto her every word, just like the rest of the audience. Watching all of these people in the audience with their glittering gowns or their Hollywood intellectual gear watching my friend raptly only seemed to emphasize that Susan was doing great things. And Duncan was, too, publishing papers in journals and hitting up the lecture circuit. I’d become a teacher because everybody influential in my life was a teacher, but in that moment, letting Susan’s nerves from the speech and Duncan’s adoration overwhelm me, I felt like it would never be enough.

* * *

After the after-party—which Susan had agreed to only if the studio donated equal the cost to the film’s cause—we gathered at Susan’s apartment to decompress. I lived in Kennituck Falls, in the old farmhouse, and Duncan had an apartment near his campus in New York. Susan had made the move to LA reluctantly, but she’d adjusted well. Her apartment had art framed on the wall that to most people would have been simply abstract art, but we all knew was a series of lyrics from Beatles’ songs. Our friend Uhrbhighgjououol-lee had given it to her for her twenty-second birthday, which was the big birthday among his species.

Of course, it had taken some cleverness on our parts to shrink down enough to fit on her wall.

Out of sight of the rest of the world, we became an entirely different crew. Broxholm’s, Duncan’s, and my masks came off, and Duncan reached into his pocket, pulling out—

“Poot!”

It lifted its little head at the sight of the rest of us, and I felt a surge of happiness through the bond. It was always stronger when we had a poot around.

“Susan, that film was excellent,” Broxholm said as I reached across the table and patted Poot.

“Thanks. I just hope it reaches the right people.”

I felt a tremor of something through the bond, but it quickly vanished. We’d lost all sense of shame years ago—some things were too beautiful for negativity—so it didn’t make sense that either Duncan or Susan would try to hide something. I looked toward Duncan, knowing on instinct that the sensation had come from him.

He gave me a half-smile in return and affectionately squeezed the poot, which made me feel briefly dizzy.

“Broxholm,” Susan said, “I think it’s time to tell him.”

“Tell me what?” I asked. I knew without question they were discussing me.

Broxholm didn’t answer me, though. Instead, he lifted his hand and twisted it in the air, activating the holo on the wall. I blinked when Kreeblim’s face filled the screen.

Duncan brightened. While I had been repairing things with my father, he’d moved back into town as Roger Keebler, with Hoo-Lan fooling everybody as his mother. But Kreeblim and Miss Karpou had always been his favorite among the aliens. The ex-home economics teacher actually gave us a human smile to see us, and her hair was waving with delight.

“Just in time,” Broxholm said cryptically.

“You haven’t told him yet?” she asked, hair waving impatiently.

“Told me what?” I asked again. Even Susan seemed bursting with some excitement I didn’t understand. “What is everybody keeping from me?”

For a second, there wasn’t an answer. Unless you counted Poot going, “Poot poot poot poot poot” in a hushed whisper. Everybody was looking at everybody else, like they weren’t sure who should get the opportunity to tell me this news. Meanwhile, my stomach tied itself in knots.

Finally, Susan looked hard at Broxholm, and my mentor stepped forward. The third eye blinking in his forehead was akin to clearing his throat. “Peter,” he said formally, “it’s been granted. Your wish to travel in space.”

I was glad I was already sitting. Surely my knees would have given out on me. Duncan and Susan’s excitement flowed from them and into me, and I knew it couldn’t be a prank. “How? Where?”

“The Intergalactic Council has decided to move on to the next phase of their plan,” Kreeblim said.

My forehead scrunched in confusion, not unlike Broxholm’s often did. “So you’re coming out into the open?”

“No, but an ambassador from the human race has officially been appointed.”

They had appointed an ambassador? But who?

“You, Krep-ter,” Duncan said, using my hybrid nickname. It meant something unflattering in the Gulwark language, so I suppose there were seeds of the boy who had picked on me forever still inside him. “They’ve picked you.”

“But...but why?”

That earned me a few smiles and a definitive “Poot!”

“They’ve paid attention to you,” Broxholm informed me. He rested a hand on my shoulder, and it was as reassuring as the emotions coming from Duncan and Susan. “Your idea to bring guides, your steadfastness to make sure those guides were used to the best of their abilities. All of that hasn’t passed the council’s notice.”

“But I thought I was needed here. To...teach.” It was why I’d become a teacher. And I loved my students. I loved their inquisitiveness and their cleverness. “And to continue saving humanity.”

“Oh, so now you think we can’t do it without you?” Susan asked, a teasing light in her smile. “Peter, this is all you’ve ever dreamed of. You have to say yes.”

Duncan shrugged, and I understood it perfectly: he agreed completely with Susan. But then, these days, he usually did.

“It’s a great honor, young Krepta,” Kreeblim said, the poot on her shoulder dancing in time with her hair. “To you and the Council as well. To have a human ambassador would go a long way to preventing the worst.”

“And I’ll get to explore space?” Hopes long buried began to stir in my chest. “To see other worlds again? What will I be doing?”

“You will accompany me and a team of hand-selected individuals on peaceful missions throughout the galaxy.” Broxholm blinked that third eye again and I realized before the Universal Translator could inform me so that he was excited as well. In our years working together, we had come to hold each other in high esteem.

And now we would be exploring space together. A tingle ran down my back. I didn’t know if it came from my own emotions or from Susan or Duncan. It hardly mattered. I was going into space.

“It will be a long journey,” Broxholm said, keeping his voice solemn. “And it is not duty you should undertake lightly. It might be years before you can see your friends again, young Peter.”

The full ramifications of his words struck me hard. I hadn’t been farther away from Duncan or Susan than the _New Jersey_. There was no telling if our bond would hold over that much distance.

From the looks on their faces, I could tell they had considered the same thing. Susan put on a brave smile and I considerately ignored the nerves coiling through her midsection. “Well,” she said, her lower lip quavering, “at least we’ll get a chance to test how strong the bond is, this way.”

“And there’s always your URAT,” Duncan said, though he didn’t feel any less nervous than Susan. 

“Perhaps I shouldn’t—”

“You’re going,” both of them said at once. Susan continued, “Peter, it’s what you’ve longed for from the start. You think we can’t sense your yearning to be out there, seeing and experiencing? We’re excited _for_ you, Peter. And if it affects the bond, we’ll deal with it.”

I could feel the conviction in her words as we stared at each other. It flowed from Duncan, too, the both of them putting up a united front against my doubts.

And they were right. When would I have a chance like this again? So I hugged them hard at the same time, the way we’d developed over the years. Susan clung to me and even Duncan slapped my back a couple times more than normal.

When I pulled back, my eyes a little wet, I looked to the screen and to Kreeblim. She gave me a slight bow of the head in reply, her hair standing perfectly still for a moment. Then she smiled.

Finally, I turned to Broxholm, the alien that had started it all. My mentor, my friend, and now my companion. My thoughts must have been plain on my face, for he smiled as well. “Are you ready, young Peter?”

“I’m ready,” I said. 


End file.
